


John "Can't" Know

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I'm Sorry, M/M, Multi, don't read this really, hermaphrodite, intersex sherlock, it just kind of jumps into smuttish territory, leading to smut i don't know if i'll actually write it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 23:08:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2669828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I kind of jumped this intersex sherlock story into a coming on. rated mature for language? johnlock...</p>
            </blockquote>





	John "Can't" Know

He couldn't tell John he was intersex because  telling his secret always ended badly.

Whether it was his first boyfriend's realization. St uffing his sweaty  hand down the front of Sherlock trousers, cutting their snog short to yank his hand away, his face contorting to pure revulsion. "Sherlock! The fuck?!"

That night left Sherlock concerned about this deformity, and angry at his parents for never giving him in to one gender. They stunted the growth of his breasts with chemicals and injections, but left the horror between his legs.

Sherlock redeemed himself with his first ever girlfriend, it was in his latter years of school. She was sweet, tall like himself, and not afraid to tell Sherlock he was being an  arse . But, the moment they began to be sexually active, it changed. 

She voiced, "This is so kinky! It's like I'm bisexual, but with one person." And it only got worse, "We should share you, lets see how many people you can take at once! Me on your prick, and two of your best mates for your pussy and  arse ." It was her sex talk. Going vividly to detail on the people she'd bring in every week. Sherlock ended it with a text.

One more disgusted boyfriend later, and Sherlock did away with relationships  all  together . 

Then he meets John. It's instantaneous that he notices his own attraction. But he keeps the thoughts to the back of his head. Though, his body betrays. His eyes linger on John's face and eyes, notice things about John's clothing and the stray pieces of hair he dusts off. He even puts John before himself any chance he gets, and to try and counter these obvious affections he has to annoy John from time to time.

More than anything, Sherlock feels like he trusts John not to be like any of the others. However, embarrassment wins out. Years ago, when Mycroft pointed out his sens itivity on the subject of sex, he coward down from telling John at all. 

It wasn't happening.

...

* * *

 

...

"Your move." John slammed a red  checker down and rewarded himself with another swig of red wine.

Sherlock looked at the black and red board, checkers was a simple game, he should win. He spoke as he looked at the pieces, "You should slow down on your beverage if you prefer to beat me." Then moves and steals one of John's pieces with two moves. 

"You should get a glass and join me then, make it even. Can't help what I already drank." John surveys his moves with a raised eyebrows, leaned forward, immersed.

John is taking his time. Sherlock realizes John won't make his next move until he obeys and fills a glass. "Fine." Sherlock drawls, standing to retrieve  his  fill of wine. 

John smiles then, moving his piece and leaning back. "You have to drink that before. I've already had two, it's only fair." And goes to watch Sherlock scoff, knowing what's going on, and chug the drink without a thought.

"Now, the fun begins. Drunk checkers will turn out better than angry chess. Promise." John said it in such a convincing way, that Sherlock, in hindsight, should've been wiser.

So they played, and drank, and played. For every move, the two  shallowed  their wine. 

The pieces in front of Sherlock began shaking, stirring, blurring before him. When his hand went out, he'd swipe the table instead. "Bugger."

" hmph " John's head was down on the table on his folded arms, laughing gently. "We're drunk, a bit." His hand went out to Sherlock's guiding it to his piece.

"No, no. 've got  thi -" He harshly dug his finger into the board, "- sss " But no he didn't. 

"How about drunk checkers isn't as fun as buzzed checkers." John lifted his head, swiping the board clean with the clank of many red and black pieces, some going to the floor. "I'll get that later." He looked down to them.

"We accomplished nothing by this alcohol." Sherlock inquired.

"I'm not sure. I feel pretty accomplished." John countered.

"Mm, no you don't." With a last gulp, the wine was gone out of Sherlock's glass.

Watching and copying, John did the same with his, "I feel open. I think we should play something more  open ." His eyebrow lifted, his smile was lazy and drunk.

And, right here right now, Sherlock needed to be open. When they get drunk together, they tend to forget what happened the day before, so why not risk a little openness? "Truth or dare. That's a fairly open game."

John's sleepy eyes opened at that, his smile turning suggestive. "Truth or dare, yeah? You go first." 

The questions and dares were generic at first, "What made you join the army?" "Drink that liquid in the fridge if it's not poisonous." "Who was your first enemy?" 

It was child's play. All until John  up'd  the notch with, "What is your sexual history?" The delivered question was one that had been boiling inside of John for many years now, the question was mystical and unreal until this very moment. He needed to know.

"W-what?" Sherlock stuttered.

"Your history, your sexual history? Anything, relationships, anything. Tell me."  John was leaning over the table, like a kid ready for dessert.

"My sexual history, um-" Sherlock pretended to think hard, or half pretend, his left hand jitter ing  so he shoved it under the table. "I've had three failed relationships." 

John shot a laugh, "Obviously, or else you wouldn't be here." And yes, if there was anybody else in Sherlock's life, he would be there with them and not sitting here with John. It was a valid statement. "Three, though? What happened, tell me more. Were they girlfriends or uh- " and John sounded hopeful, "boyfriend s ?"

Truth was obviously the wrong answer for  t his round. "I've had two boyfriends and one girlfriend. They all ended the same." The wine was clearing, not by much, but by enough that Sherlock could see John's questioning look. "It was me  not them ."

"So, you did some wrong deductions, then, and scared them off?" John guessed.

"No, I, no. It had nothing to do with what I said, it was something entirely different. Okay, truth or dare?" Sherlock tried to brush it off, but John tucked his legs under himself on the chair and leaned in,

"Wait. My question was about your sexual history, not relationship history. You've got to be more specific. The rules." 

Sherlock wondered how far into a lie he could get himself into. John had trust issues, and lying about something as simple as the sex he's had wouldn't help the issue. He hoped they wouldn't remem b er  this.

"This is a sensitive subject for me, John." Last resort. Tell him the territory he's about t o  step into is a rocky one.

John leaned in further though, half of the table gone under him, "Sherlock. There is nothing that you could tell me that would change the way I think about you. I bet you there's something you don't know about me.  We're drunk, this is a game, we'll forget, so play." His hand briefly rested on Sherlock's wrist.

Breathing a deep breath, letting the tingle of wine overtake him, Sherlock began. "Victor Trevor was my first boyfriend. We were on his couch, home alone, all over each other. I was gay, I am gay. I-" Sherlock took a moment to memorize John's look.

It was as if the final proof that Sherlock was in fact a homosexual made everything make sense, it made John's mind sigh in relief. John looked happy.

"-I felt him, he began sliding his hands under my shirt, then they were pulling my belt off, then undoing my trousers. I wanted him, and that, what we had and what he was doing. Then, his right hand went down my pants. At first, I thought he paused for the moment. But I opened my eyes to see Vic utterly repulsed. The hand retracted, and he pushed me off. He kept yelling at me, but I don't remember it, I remember being kicked out trying to redo my trousers."

John was divested in the story, his teeth chewing the side of his cheek. "I- I don't know what to say." Maybe he regretted the truth.

"There was my first girlfriend, too. I didn't really care for a relationship, then, but she put up with me. We were very sexual. Or, she was. If I didn't have an erection when she wanted sex, she'd make it happen. But, she thought my below the belt area was something I should exploit. I woke up to her friend kissing me, telling me 'surprise!', and how we were having a morning threesome with someone I didn't know. I dumped her, then."

John's internal, 'What is Sherlock's sexual history?' question turned into, "What did Sherlock's genitals look like?'. It was burning him already.

"My last relationships was with a man I'd rather not reveal. I knew him for years before he asked me out, made me feel special. But, he used me for the wrong reasons. He only liked one aspect of my body. ..  And that is my sexual history." 

John leaned back, his head filled to the brim with squiggles. Why did Sherlock's genitals turn them off and not his mouth? What was it? Why were all these people cynical? He did know one thing, John was way too drunk to be quiet.

"Do you have an enormous penis or something?" 

Sherlock smiled a little, gripping the table and readjusting himself, "No, my dick is very much average." 

"Okay, lets move on. Ask me." John ordered , he wanted to know Sherlock's secret, but didn't want to sound 'too' interested.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth." John said.

"Have you been with men before?" 

John rolled his tongue over his lips.  He feigned cockiness.  It was fair to answer. Sherlock just spilled a long kept secret, sort of. "Honestly, yes. One. But I'd only tell you, you know."

Sherlock was happy at this, "Who was he? Have I met him?"

John blushed, "Yeah, yeah you know him. He went to my wedding with Mary awhile back."

Sherlock's eyes shot wide. " Sh-Sholto ?! Major  Sholto ? He's the one man you slept with?"

Nodding sheepishly, John looked at him. "He's not the only man I have ever loved, though. And I claim myself, if I ever got the courage to come out, as bisexual. I think I knocked a few awkward future conversations out by saying that  just now ."

Sherlock was feeling open now, how John felt earlier. He felt like he could tell John the one thing he must never tell. 

"John, I'm intersex."  It came out with the rush of the two of them feeling so open, free. No longer did the restraints of small talk confine them.

Whether Sherlock realized it or not, the mood had shifted. John had looked up abruptly. His mouth had opened. He had stood up so quickly, it made Sherlock jump out of his chair in shock. 

Sherlock's stomach clenched, no, this was wrong.  His feet were unsteady.

They moved with one another to the end of the table, facing each other, until nothing but air was in between them. 

He realized.  "Oh my. GOD!  Ohmygod .. . I'm so sorry, John, just don't .. ." Sherlock's hand went up, his heart racing from the lightning shift from light to dark. He shouldn't have said it. John was going to leave now. John was going to hurt him. John was not happy, he was sure of it.

Sherlock put his hand down slowly, then put it to his face,  "I'd rather you hurt me right now than leave ." 

John was stoic. His feet fast in running up to Sherlock and pinning him to the fridge, removing Sherlock's hand from his eyes. "Look at me." 

Sherlock peeled his eyes open, scared for what pain he was in for.

"Look at me! Just look at me and nod when I ask you." John's hand was on Sherlock's wrist, his other tight on his side, and their bodies tight against each other. "It look a lot for you to say that, yes?"

Sherlock was trying to move, trying to brace himself. He nodded sharply.

"And out of anyone, you told me ?" John's voice was a low breath, suffocating the skin on Sherlock's neck, closest he could get to his ear.

Sherlock nodded again, slower.

John licked his lips, looking around assessing before leaning up again, as close as he could get. "I am  very  drunk, Sherlock, and  very  much would like to do some  very  ungodly things with you right now." His hand on Sherlock's hand ran to the seam of Sherlock's shirt and buttons, grabbing it. "I want you to know something, okay?" 

Sherlock was frozen, it took John shaking him for Sherlock to respond, "Okay."

"I want to do this with you because I've been trying to all night. Like I do every night we get drunk or go out for a nice dinner. Me wanting to take you into your room and fuck you has nothing to do with what you said." They were unmoving, but pressed tight against each other still.

Sherlock could feel John's bulge at his thigh, and  his mind shot blurring lights . "W-What brought this on, then?" 

John's pupil's were large at hearing Sherlock's deep, low, growled voice. And he nudged himself against Sherlock. "I felt this was my chance to have you. In my head I thought that if I waited for another day to come onto you, that you would think that I had to assess my decision. But honestly, I don't have to think about a god damn thing. I'd want you whether you were a woman, celibate, or addicted to pornography."

Sherlock realized the hand on his shirt was unbuttoning it efficiently. Not until cool fingers grazed his torso did he understand that his shirt was opened fully.

"Do you want this?" John asked his final question.

Sherlock looked down at him, " It only took me telling you I was intersex? A hermaphrodite?"

John ran his hand onto the cool skin of his torso, "This was my chance, I'm taking it. Do you want this?" He asked again, more firmly.

Sherlock, if he wasn't any wiser, would've guessed John was infuriated, mad, down right angry. But, no, he was turned on passed the point of caring. The alcohol edging him on.

"I want to be in your room, our first time. Take me there."

John smiled, gingerly, removing the hand on his side to cup the back of Sherlock's neck, bringing him down. It was chaste, their first kiss, as a kiss they've had years of practice for. It ended the second John puckered for it.

"Then why don't we head up? Get you under the blankets ."


End file.
